


Two Singles, One Return

by unbelievable2



Category: The Sentinel
Genre: First Time, M/M, Secret Santa
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-27
Updated: 2014-12-27
Packaged: 2018-03-03 20:16:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 16,609
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2886173
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/unbelievable2/pseuds/unbelievable2
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A story about phone-calls, and misunderstandings</p>
            </blockquote>





	Two Singles, One Return

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the Live Journal Secret Santa fic exchange, 2014. The recipient is the wonderful mab_browne
> 
> Since first posting this, the amazing and generous PattRose has produce the beautiful title art to go with this story! How kind she is! I am more delighted than I can say! :))

[ ](http://s71.photobucket.com/user/PattRose1/media/TwoSinglesA_zps1d7ab97f.jpg.html)

** Two Singles, One Return **

_**10th November - Cascade, 9.30pm.**  
“This is Blair Sandburg’s phone. Please leave a message and I’ll get back to you just as soon as I can.”_  
“Ah. Uh. Chief, it’s me. Just wondered if you were there. Ah. Uh. I guess you aren’t. Okay, well, sorry I missed your call last week. I’ve been out running the Hanratty thing to ground just about every waking minute. Weird how that little time difference with you makes finding the right time to call really hard. Anyway, hope you’re well. You know, doing okay. I’ll maybe try you over the weekend. Yeah, okay... bye. Oh, wait, I was going to ask you what….”  
 _Click_  
“…you were doing for Thanksgiving.”  
Jim’s voice trailed off as he realised it was only dead air listening. He stared at the phone, then switched it off and put it back on the table. Then he leaned over and rubbed his eyes with the heels of his hands.  
 _Christ, but he was tired._  
He looked up again and gazed round the Loft; very tidy, very neat. No noise, no rustling, no kettle boiling, no keyboard tapping, no sizzling oil in the wok, no muted ballgame on TV.  
No Sandburg.  
 _Yeah, fine. Suppose he’d better get something to eat._  
He pulled himself up from the table, bone weary, and stepped to the refrigerator. Door open, a pack of Swiss cheese slices, a tomato and three bottles of beer stood expectantly in the spotlight. And nothing else. Oh well, shopping could happen tomorrow, now Hanratty was under arrest. He pulled out the cheese pack and peeled out three of the slices, stuffing them into his mouth as he took the largest bottle of beer and closed the door again. Then he made his way up the stairs, leaving the quiet Loft in darkness.

++++

* * *

**_November 11th - Cascade, 8 am_**  
 _Unnngh… Wha’?_ “Ell’son…”  
“Oh shit! Oh, man, I got the time mixed up again. I’m sorry, did I wake you? Stupid question, of course I did…”  
“Shut up, Sandburg.”  
“And it’s 8am, right? You were asleep, and it’s a Saturday….. Dammit!”  
Jim righted himself in the bed and pulled the phone closer to his ear.  
“That razor-sharp mind still there, I see. Yep, it’s a Saturday, and my first day-off for weeks. You got it in one.”  
“Shit, I’ll ring back later, shall I?”  
Jim was sitting up now, swinging his feet over the edge of the bed, fully alert to the possibility of Blair ringing off again.  
“No, no!” It was almost a shout, and he surprised himself. He lowered his voice to something less needy. “It’s fine, honestly. Where’ve you been, Chief? Long time, no speak.”  
There was a gusty sigh down the phone.  
“Jeeesus, you wouldn’t credit the schedule here. Boy, do they get their money’s worth out of the teaching staff. Every time I’d look to give you a call it would either be class-time, or the time difference would mess it up, or it’d be too late. I’ve got classes like you wouldn’t believe, then faculty stuff late into the evening most nights, or special tutoring, which the college gets most of the money for, not me. Rainier, it ain’t.”  
Jim was unconsciously listening for the sound of an excuse, but truthfully, he only heard exhaustion. Blair was still talking.  
“And they even get their students to do the admin work for them. There’s a second year girl running the office I share with the other guys – she does our mail and stuff, fields calls and whatever. Not very well, I might add. But, you know, she should be _studying_ , when she’s at college. It’s not like waitressing in her free time, this is her free _study_ time! It really sucks. If she weren’t so keen to get some money, I’d do the work myself. It’s not as if I don’t need…. so…. how are _you_ , man?”  
The change of subject didn’t put Jim off the scent. No sirree, despite near coma levels of fatigue.  
“Money short, Chief?”  
“I’m getting by, Jim. No problem.”  
“Sandburg, we’ve discussed this. I can spare some, you know that. How about a loan?”  
Blair’s reply was vehement.  
“Absolutely not! We also discussed that this isn’t for you to worry about. I’m fine. I just do a little bar work at the weekends…”  
“Jesus, Chief!”  
“No, be cool, man, it’s all right! I only do early evenings, or day-times. No heavy shifts. It’s not like I haven’t done bar work before - you know, before I met you.”  
“I don’t like it, Sandburg.”  
“Well, I’m not ecstatic myself, but it’s just for a while. Just till I get my feet here. But you know, Denver Smithson makes Rainier look like the Sorbonne.” He chuckled, and Jim forced a chuckle back. The unspoken words: _“But they were the only ones who’d have me”_ hummed mercilessly through the ether.  
“Talking of which, I gotta go in a little while, Jim. I got some marked stuff to deliver before I get to my lunch shift. So, tell me about _you_! How’re you doing, Detective?”  
“Good. I’m good.”  
“Yeah? The Hanratty thing sounded really tough. You got the bastard, right?”  
“When I left last night, he was under arrest. I’m hoping bail will be denied, but you never know.”  
“Knew you’d get him. I’m sorry I wasn’t in at the end of that one.”  
The tone was wistful.  
“Me, too, Chief.”  
There was a silence for a moment, then Blair piped up again, all forced cheerfulness.  
“And the senses? Come on, man, a bit more detail, please? All okay? How’s Megan doing? You’ve not come to blows yet, huh?”  
“She’s being really good about it, Chief. Very dedicated. It’s fine, I’m not having any senses problems at all, right now.”  
“That came out a little too pat for my liking, Jim…”  
“Scout’s honour. No problems with the senses.”  
“Good. Fine.” Blair’s voice was a little clipped. “See, I told you, you could manage.”  
“I told _you_ that!”  
They both laughed a little, and there was another pause, a blank space hanging there for words that would not be spoken.  
“Dammit,” sighed Blair again, “I just looked at the clock. I really gotta go. Can I ring you tomorrow?”  
Jim grinned and nodded, then realised Blair couldn’t see his affirmation.  
“Yeah, tomorrow would be good. Make it afternoon? There’s that big game on. We can maybe do phone-basketball.”  
“In that case you’re ringing me, man! Okay, tomorrow -you got it. About 2. Just after I finish at the Pleasure-dome.”  
“Please tell me that’s not the bar…?”  
“Denver is just full of surprises. And flagrant violations of the advertising code.”  
Jim chuckled, then slapped his forehead.  
“Chief, I almost forgot again. What are you doing for Thanksgiving? I’ve been meaning to ask you for weeks, but you know, the days have just… Anyway, if you aren’t busy, maybe…”  
“Aw, Jim, I’d really like to. I’ve not had time to think much about it. But I wouldn’t be able to afford the Holiday fares. They’re a rip-off.”  
“Well, can I come to Denver, maybe?”  
“Jim, sorry, I wasn’t hinting you should…”  
“Well, can I?”  
He thought he could hear Blair’s smile down the phone-line.  
“Well, if you’ve nothing better to do, man…”  
“Done! I’ll do some research and we can talk about it tomorrow!”  
“Tomorrow, then! Have a good day, Jim!”  
“You too, Chief.”  
Jim put down the phone, and sat back on the bed, feeling unaccountably pleased. The feeling lasted until the phone rang again, mere moments later. For a second, he wondered – hoped - it might be Blair.  
“Ellison.”  
“I’m sorry, Jim.” Simon Banks’ voice was heavy with resignation. “Hanratty made bail last night, and this morning he skipped. Get your ass down here.”  
+++++

* * *

**_November 12th - Cascade, around noon_ **

_“This is Blair Sandburg’s phone. Please leave a message and I’ll get back to you just as soon as I can.”_  
“Chief, it’s me. I’m sorry, Hanratty made bail and disappeared. The Mayor is breathing fire and brimstone, the Commissioner is calling Simon every five minutes and we’re all out on the streets again. Sorry, I won’t be home to talk to you later. I’ll call you as soon as I can, okay? Yeah, well, um, look after yourself, Sandburg.”  
++++

* * *

_**November 12th – Denver, 3.10pm**_  
 _“Ellison residence. Leave a message.”_  
“Ah, Jim? Jim, you there? We did say 2pm, yeah? Your time? Ah, you gonna pick up?”  
Blair waited, hearing his own breathing reflected back by the phone.  
“Okay, okay. You maybe could have rung me if you couldn’t make it, man. But I guess you’ve got a good reason. Yeah? Okay, speak to you sometime. Bye.”  
Blair rang off, and stared at the phone for a while; then he sighed and put it in his pocket, picked up his coat and headed back out of his nasty little apartment to his nasty little (shared) office in the nastiest academic shit-hole of the entire U S of A. And he didn’t mind one bit, really he didn’t.  
+++++

* * *

_**November 13th – Cascade, 11.30pm**  
“This is Blair Sandburg’s phone. Please leave a message and I’ll get back to you just as soon as I can.”_  
“Chief? Real sorry about Sunday. You got the message, I hope? It’s been chaos here. I haven’t been home for two days. The Feds got him again – complete fluke as far as I can see, but at least he’s behind bars. Look, I’ll call you later. It’s late and I gotta go to court tomorrow morning. Bye.”  
+++++

* * *

_**November 14th – Denver, 10.30am** _  
“Major Crimes. Can I help you?”  
“Rhonda? It’s Blair!”  
“Blair? Oh my God, it’s so good to hear your voice! How are you?” He could hear her voice change as she turned away from the phone to shout at someone: _“Hey, it’s Blair!”_  
“Rhonda? Rhonda, I’m sorry, I’m a bit rushed here. I’m fine, hope you are, too. I just needed to know….”  
“We’re all good, Blair. Stupid-busy, what with Hanratty, but okay.”  
“Hanratty? I thought that was all over?”  
“God, no! The last few days… well, we got him back again, and now it’s the legal stuff. Jim’ll be sorry he missed you. He’s stuck at the Courthouse today.”  
“He’s okay, then? Jim’s okay? See, he was supposed to call me, and he didn’t, and I thought... and then I thought maybe he’s actually, you know, actually in trouble, or hurt, or…”  
“In trouble? No, no more than usual! You know Jim! He’s fine, Blair, honestly. Just tired. We all are. I’ll tell him you rang…”  
++++

* * *

_**November 15th - Cascade, 9.00am**  
“This is Blair Sandburg’s phone. Please leave a message and I’ll get back to you just as soon as I can.”_  
“Chief, Rhonda told me you called. Ah, yeah, I guess that’s it. Call me when you can, okay? Bye”  
++++

* * *

_**November 16th - Cascade, 11.30pm**  
“Ellison residence. Leave a message.”_  
“Jim? Jim, you there? It’s me. I know it’s late, but look, I’m sorry, I only just realised - this goddamn phone is just eating my messages! I don’t get to see them at all! It just hides them in its little brain and you have to go looking for them. So I didn’t hear about Hanratty, and then…”  
“Sandburg, stop babbling!”  
“Oh, you _are_ there!”  
“Just got in. Late meeting with the Commissioner and the Chief – lessons learned and all that crap.”  
“At _night_?”  
“They’ve got a breakfast with the Mayor tomorrow. Had to get all their excuses lined up. We put them straight about Major Crimes’ role in all this, so I hope we don’t end up being the fall-guys.”  
“I’ll keep my fingers crossed for you, man. Look, Jim, I was a jerk…”  
“That’s not unusual, Sandburg. Care to be more specific?”  
“No, quit joking. I mean about the messages. I thought you’d just changed your mind on Sunday and didn’t bother to tell me. It made me pretty pissed, and it took me a day to think maybe you were hurt or something….”  
“Sandburg, it was all fine. I left messages, you didn’t get them. No big deal. I mean, it’s not like this was a _date_ , or anything…”  
There was a pause, and then he heard Blair clear his throat.  
“Ah, no, that’s for sure, hey?” Jim could hear the forced brightness in the far-away voice. “Right, well, I’m glad we cleared that up. I mean, that you’re not pissed either. And yeah, that everything’s fine. Um… guess I’d better go. Let you get some sleep. Me, too, actually.”  
“Okay, Chief. And now I have some free time, I’ll look at those air-fares, right?”  
“Um, yeah, great, Jim. That’ll be great. If you really want to, I mean.”  
“Sandburg, I said…”  
“Yeah, I know, I know! That would be cool, Jim, really. I’ll speak to you later, okay?”  
Jim put down the phone and stared out of the window at the darkness and the city lights, thinking back on his words.  
 _“…it’s not like this was a date, or anything…”_  
Well, of course it wasn’t. This was _Sandburg…._  
++++

* * *

_**November 20th – Cascade, 10.30am**  
“Anthropology section, Rosie speaking!”_  
“Ah, hi, could I speak to Blair Sandburg, please?”  
“Blair? Ah, now let me see… No, he’s teaching right now. He’ll be out in thirty. Maybe try him later, okay?”  
“Wait a minute! Can’t I leave him a message? It’s pretty important.”  
“Well, I guess so. Hang on, let me get a pen… okay, fire away!”  
“Tell him, Jim Ellison called…”  
“J..I..M… How do you spell ‘Ellison’?”  
Jim groaned inwardly.  
“Look, just say, Jim called, I’ve got an option on some air tickets for Thanksgiving, so I’ll be coming over… You _will_ get this message to him, won’t you? Will you be seeing him after his classes?”  
“Hey, sure I’m seeing him! I better! We’re going dancing tonight!”  
Jim froze.  
“Dancing?”  
“Yeah! Big night!”  
Jim cleared his throat and shook himself. A change of tack was clearly needed.  
“Okay, please say to him, I got this option. I need to know by the end of the day whether it’s not okay for me to take them. They’re really pricey. Please tell him to ring me to confirm.”  
“ _...’Pricey tickets….hmmm-hmmm…Call to confirm later…’_ Okay, I got that!”  
Jim put down the phone, feeling unconvinced about so many things, on so many levels.  
++++

* * *

**_Thanksgiving – Denver,9.30pm_**  
“Ellison.”  
“Hey, man! Happy Thanksgiving!”  
“Hey yourself, Chief! I didn’t… Hang on, let me get somewhere quieter…”  
“You’re out, I guess?”  
“Yeah, at my dad’s. He’s got a neighbours party going on tonight. Hasn’t done it for years. Thought it would be supportive to tag along.”  
“Great, that’s great! You having fun?”  
“Oh, a blast, Chief. You can imagine.”  
Blair gave a chuckle.  
“Hey, it’s your good deed for the day. Sorry I’ve been quiet ...”  
“Your phone been giving me the run-around again, Chief? I’ve been calling…”  
“Run off my feet, as usual. Uh, shame about those air tickets. Man, I completely understand. The airlines have it all stitched up. I don’t blame you…”  
“Hey, what’s this? I was ready to buy, but then…”  
“What? Well, why didn’t you?”  
“Well, your secretary said you and she…. Oh, yeah, thanks, Deanna. Just put it over there, would you?”  
Blair went cold.  
“My secretary said _what_? And who’s Deanna?”  
“Oh, she’s the daughter of some friends across the way. She just brought me a piece of cake.”  
 _Come on, Sandburg, time to readjust_ , thought Blair. He put on his breeziest tone.  
“She a looker? Come on, I bet she’s a looker!”  
“Well, yeah, she is, actually. She’s in real estate. About your age. You’d like her."  
 _No, I damn well wouldn’t_ , snarled Blair inwardly. And outwardly:  
“You dog, you! Go for it! Hey, I’d better ring off. Don’t want to be encroaching on your private life, now.”  
“What? Since when did that make any difference to you, Sandburg?”  
“Fair point, man, fair point. But even so, you‘d better get back to the party.”  
“Would you believe I’d rather be shooting the breeze with you right here?”  
“Not with the lovely Deanna ready and waiting, I don’t.”  
“Oh yeah? And don’t you tell me you’ve not got something lined up for tonight. What’s the plan?”  
Blair looked round the quiet office. The only light showing, apart from his own desk-light, was the fluorescent strip-light in the corridor, and its pervasive hum was the only sound on that floor that warded off the silence of the grave.  
“Yeah, I’ll be calling on some people later. Naomi said she was coming over from NYC, but something came up again, so she cancelled. Maybe Christmas...”  
“Oh, I wanted to ask you, Chief, what are you doing for Christmas? Maybe I could try again with these tickets. I mean, if you haven’t got any plans yourself…”  
“Really?” Blair cursed himself for the way his heart upped its pace, just at the thought. “Yeah, well, that would be just _great_. Really. But don’t let it get in the way of the lovely Deanna, mind.”  
“Yeah, well, I don’t want to get in the way of the lovely Rosie, either. But I’ll look for tickets. I’ve got a little more free time now that we seem to have got rid of Hanratty for the foreseeable. And this time, ring me back, okay?”  
“Jim, I really don’t know what you mean about the lovely Rosie…”  
“Enough with the obfuscating, Sandburg! Look, I’d better go. Talk to you in a few…”  
Blair put down the phone, and stared blankly at his desk for a moment. Then he reached into his jacket pocket and pulled out his wallet. Slightly clumsy fingers extracted a minutely-folded piece of paper from a phone-message pad.  
 _JIM. Pricey tickets confirmed. It’s not okay. He’ll call later._  
+++++

* * *

_**December 5th – Cascade, 7.30pm**  
“This is Blair Sandburg’s phone. Please leave a message and I’ll get back to you just as soon as I can.”_  
Jim sighed inwardly as the automatic message kicked in again.  
“Ah, hi, Chief. Um, how’re you doing? I, ah, just wanted to talk, you know? But you’re really busy, so… Okay, I’ll try you later. Oh, Hanratty’s cutting a deal. Can you believe it? We’re all pretty depressed about it, I can tell you. I guess that’s why I feel… oh, I dunno, pretty negative right now. Would be good to talk to you. Oh, and Christmas tickets…”  
 _Click._  
Jim cursed; he contemplated ringing back to continue the message, but chickened out. It could be good to hide behind a recorded voice, sometimes, but just then he really wanted to hear Blair’s voice, to judge for himself whether his visit was now really welcomed. Two friends meeting up was one thing, but if Blair was in full girlfriend-mode it would be less than fun. Not to mention….  
 _Mention what, Ellison?_  
The feeling of rejection, that’s what. The feeling of failure, and loss.  
He looked around the Loft. For a long time, the place had been purely functional; a place to eat and sleep and watch TV. The emptiness after Carolyn left had barely registered - it had almost been like she had never been there, the little difference her absence made. Which was a real indictment of their marriage, or rather his approach to their marriage, Jim mused. Poor Caro, it just hadn’t been the right match.  
Now, the sense of emptiness was ever-present, such was the contrast with the past three years. But it was stupid to wish it all back. Too much had happened for it all to return to what it had been. And now he took a cold, objective look at life in the Loft, he could see that it wouldn’t have been easy for Blair to have lived there – tiny room, draconian rules, petty landlord, ungrateful friend….  
That he had put up with it for so long was, Jim guessed, a testament to Blair’s low expectations of accommodation, but most of all to his irrepressible spirit. And that spirit would mean that Blair was now building the best life he could in Denver, rising to the challenge as he always did. There would have to be a very good reason why Blair would look back over his shoulder, now.  
Times change, thought Jim sadly. Times change, and people change, so other things have to change to fit that.  
He sat quietly for a while, then got up and went his jacket to get his wallet, extracting a small business card from its folds. He stared at the card for long moments, then went to the phone again, and dialled.  
“Deanna? Hi, it’s Jim Ellison…”  
++++

* * *

_December 7th - Cascade 12.45pm_  
The phone rang just as Jim was getting up from his desk, already late.  
“Ellison.”  
“Hey, man! Hanratty’s cutting a deal? No way! The rat-bastard!”  
“Yeah, well, that he’s a rat-bastard is less of surprise than the DA’s willingness to play along with the Feds on this. He can give them the drop on a lot of other cases, so the story goes.”  
“Man, that just sucks!”  
“You’re telling me. Good to hear from you, Chief. I did call a couple of nights ago, but…”  
“Yeah, faculty stuff, sorry. I’m beginning to think they’re wearing me so thin, by Christmas I’ll be transparent. But by the New Year I’ll be over the probation period so things should lighten up – that’s the theory, anyway. Hey, Jim, about Christmas….”  
“Oh, yeah. Look, Chief, if you have other plans…”  
“Nonono! Why would I have other plans? I mean, if you still want to come over, that is? I’ve been looking at the airline sites – they’re worse than Thanksgiving, but if you maybe come over a little earlier…”  
“I dunno about that, Chief, I’ll have to look at the roster. You know what it can get like around this time of year.”  
“Yeah, but…”  
Henri Brown breezed through the department door.  
“Hey, Ellison! Don’t keep the lady waiting!”  
“Chief, I’m really sorry, but I’ve got to go. Someone’s waiting for me. I’ll call you later, okay?”  
++++

* * *

**_December 8th - Cascade, 11am_**  
 _“Anthropology section, Rosie speaking!”_  
“Oh, hi. Yeah, hi, ah, Rosie, is Blair Sandburg there please?”  
“Blair? Okay, lemme see…. Meetings with the faculty heads till 12, poor sucker. They never let him alone. Say, are you Jim?”  
“Yes, yes. I am. That’s me…”  
“I _thought_ I recognised your voice! Oh, Blair’s always on at me: _‘Did Jim call?’ ‘Make sure you tell me if Jim calls!’ ‘ Rosie, make sure you get the message right this time!’_ Man, anyone would think you were his probation officer or something!”  
Jim found himself smiling at the thought, or maybe it was the realisation of the clear importance Blair attached to his calls.  
“Yeah, or something.” he replied genially. “So, can you tell him to call me? As soon as he’s able, please. Work or home, it doesn’t matter.”  
“Sure thing, Jim!” Rosie’s tone changed slightly. “You’re good friends, yeah?”  
“Yes, Rosie. Real good friends.”  
“Good, I’m glad he’s got a friend. He seems kinda lonely here, and they make him work so hard, even though he’s the best in the department. Hell, probably the best in the whole college. Though, believe me, Smithson hasn’t much to live up to.”  
“I’m sure you’re a good friend, too, Rosie.”  
“Well, I try; we all try. But he just keeps his head down, you know? Plus, I only see him in the office. I’m taking Lit.”  
Jim frowned.  
“So, ah, you and he aren’t…?”  
“Aren’t what?”  
“Well, I thought maybe… You told me you and he were going dancing.”  
“Dancing?” Rosie sounded doubtful then snorted in amusement. “Oh yeah, there was a faculty dance before Thanksgiving and I got invited on account of doing their admin shit here – hey, you aren’t faculty, too, are you? Boy, I’ll get in real trouble talking like this if you are!”  
“No, no. But I thought…”  
Rosie was still talking.  
“It was a pretty boring gig, by the way. Not enough sponsors to talk to. That’s the only way you get a post lined up after college, you know? You have to find a nice businessman, and schmooze… Oh, hey, I gotta go, Jim. More phones ringing.”  
The phone went dead. Jim stared at it, thinking back over the brief conversation for clues as to what was going on; Sandburg lonely, Sandburg solitary, Sandburg waiting for his calls, the lovely Rosie – and now he thought about it, just a child, after all - not in the picture at all, apparently. He didn’t know whether to laugh or cry.  
It was only as he was making his way to bed that evening that one sentence came back to hit him squarely in the gut.  
 _’Rosie, make sure you get the message right this time!’_  
+++++

* * *

**_December 10th – Denver, 2.30pm_**

"Major Crimes. Brown speaking."  
"Henri, my man! How's it going?"  
"Blair! Good to hear your voice! And the PD would be better with your input, Hairboy! Ellison would be less of a jerk, you know? You doin' okay? You've just missed Jim. He's got a late lunch, with Deanna the Doll. You know, Doll with a capital 'D'? That's the fourth time this week. Hoo boy, considering his age, he's still got it!"  
Blair found he was gripping the phone rather too hard. He tried to relax his fingers, without success.  
"That sounds like it's getting serious," he offered, as calmly as he could.  
"Well, not that he'll say anything about it. You know Jim. But it sure seems serious to us!"  
Blair forced a chuckle.  
"Sure is good to talk to you, Henri. How is everyone? Is Megan there? I've not managed to speak to her since I moved. The days are just too crazy here."  
"You don't know? Didn't Jim tell you? Hey, if you want to talk to Megan you gotta call long-distance. I mean looooonng distance."  
Blair was genuinely puzzled, then a cold stab of doubt went through him.  
"What do you mean, Henri?"  
"She's gone back to Oz - compassionate leave. Her dad had a stroke - oh, this was early October. Not long after you left. They thought he was on his way out, but he's not doing too bad, she tell us. She emails, you know? He's in physical therapy now. There was talk of her coming back after New Year, but I'm not so sure. I think she wants to stay to help her mom."  
These domestic details went right over Blair's head. He could only hear Henri's earlier words.  
"She left in October?" he repeated.  
"Yeah, you mean Jim didn't tell you? Man, he can be a real jerk sometimes, can't he? Pretty focused on himself. Worse since you left, you know. Say, Blair, when're you coming back.....?"  
+++++

* * *

**_December 10th - Cascade, 6pm_ **

"Ell..."  
No chance to get the rest of the word out.  
"What the hell, Jim? What the hell? Megan's gone, and you never told me! How could you do that? Why didn't you tell me? You're out there with no one to watch you for zones, help you with the senses..."  
"Just calm down, will you, Sandburg? There's nothing to worry about!"  
"Are you kidding? You need someone to watch you! That was our agreement. When I left, you had to have someone to watch you. And you never told me what was going on! What the fuck, man? I mean, what the fuck?"  
"Sandburg, I don't need you or anyone to nanny me. You don't need to worry about the senses anymore, okay? I'm fine. You get on with what you have to do there. That was our agreement!"  
"Jim, I only left because of those assurances. We agreed Megan would look out for you. You don't seriously think I would have willingly left you exposed, do you? At risk? What the hell have the last three years been about?"  
"And I told Megan I'd be fine if she left, and I am. You don't need to worry about me. You aren't here anymore. I have to get on with things."  
"What's that supposed to mean? You know why I've gone here. You know what this is about. I need to get the Doctorate, Jim. I need it! All those years will go to waste if I don't. I need something behind me now. I can't tread water forever, not now, not since..."  
 _'Since the dissertation'_ were the words that hung in the air. Jim clenched his jaw. Always this, always this issue - it would never go away. It had poisoned everything, had been poisoning it since the very start...  
"I gave you a solution for that, Chief. You turned it down."  
"Oh, Jim, we discussed this too! I had to turn it down. I couldn't be a cop, not a regular cop, not even with you. They would never have accepted me, and you'd have been stuck with a lame duck partner..."  
Jim felt something surge up through him. Nothing like catharsis, this. More like the lancing of an abscess that, despite the treatment, was never going to heal.  
"You never gave it a try, Sandburg. You dismissed it out of hand."  
"How can you say that? Don't you remember the talks we had? Or at least the talks I _tried_ to have with you? I thought you understood what the academic endorsement means. Even if I never go back to research, if I don't complete the Doctorate I've totally ruined what little reputation I have left. At least this way I get to salvage something. Something that might allow me a future."  
"And there wasn't a future here?"  
"What? You tell me, Jim! You were the one who closed down. You were the one who said he wanted to go back to being on his own. Oh, I know you said that. People heard you, people told me, and took great delight in telling me! The offer of the badge was a nice touch, really it was, but did you and Simon really think it through? Honestly? I _had_ to move, I had to find somewhere that would allow me to complete some kind of dissertation and finish the process. I was fighting for my professional life, and fighting to protect you at the same time. One and the same, man. But if I'd thought you were allowing yourself to work unprotected...."  
Jim tasted the bile in his throat. It was too much, to hear his own words thrown back at him; it hurt too much.  
"I'm not unprotected because I don't have the senses, okay? I don't have the senses anymore."  
There was a stunned silence at the other end of the line. Then a hoarse voice asked:  
"What? What are you talking about?"  
Jim was angry now, angry for everything- for Blair's sacrifice, for the world's meddling, for abandonment, for loneliness...  
"I gave them up, okay? I no longer have those super-senses that excite you so much." Such spite in his voice - where had it come from? " I don't want them anymore. They've ruined my life - they've always ruined my life. I've had enough of them. I gave them up."  
Blair was spluttering now.  
"But you can't! How can you just give them up? It's not possible..."  
"Well, apparently, it is," returned Jim drily. "End of story."  
"But it's your gift, Jim. They are a wonderful thing!"  
"Wonderful for you, Sandburg. Not for me. They've never brought me anything but trouble and pain. I dialled them down until I couldn't feel anything anymore and they just disappeared. Maybe third time's the charm, eh? Maybe this time they've gone for good. And I couldn't be happier."  
 _Oh, you liar,_ he thought. _Oh, how much you lie._  
Blair had gone very quiet. Jim waited for a moment and then pushed.  
"You still there, Sandburg?"  
"Never," repeated a small voice. "Never brought you anything but trouble..." Blair wasn't talking to Jim, it seemed, but to himself. And Jim knew immediately what he meant. Three years of danger and excitement and hilarity and drama and loyalty and friendship and contentment, and ... love.  
So he made it all worse.  
"They were what you wanted, Chief. Not me."  
Blair's voice, when it came, was icily cold.  
"You asshole! Is that all you thought about it...? Is that all it meant? You think I was your friend because of the senses? Well, fuck you, Ellison!"  
It was all too much...  
"What's the point of the senses, if you're not here? What's the point, Sandburg, if you're not here anymore?"  
"Don't you dare lay this at my door! I left to help you, you bastard! You think Denver Smithson is at the top of my list for career advancement? You think I really wanted to leave Cascade, to leave...to leave all my friends? But I guess I should know better by now how unaccustomed you are to acknowledging what your friends do for you."  
"Sandburg... Blair..."  
"I don't want your fucking gratitude, you asshole! Don't you get it? I did what I did and I'd do it again for the same reasons, but I don’t need you to say 'thank you'! Jesus! Do you not get the point? Do you wilfully _never_ get the point?"  
"Blair, please...."  
"Just... just fuck you, Ellison."  
"Blair, I'm sorry, please..."  
"Why? Why are you sorry? You don't even understand what you've got to apologise for! But hey, you know what? I guess it's not you. It's me, okay? It's me. I'm the one who's got this wrong. Let's just leave it like that, okay? I gotta go, Jim..."  
Jim's forced detachment dissolved into sheer panic.  
"No, Blair, please... Don't..."  
"I can't talk to you right now, Jim. I'm too...too angry. And other things. Take care of yourself."  
The line went dead. Jim threw the phone across the room.  
+++++

* * *

**_Christmas Eve – Denver, 11pm._ **

_"Ellison residence. Leave a message."_  
"Ah, hi, Jim. Just ringing to... you know... wish you a merry Christmas. Only an hour or so to go and then, wow...Christmas Day, man!"  
A slight pause.  
"Have to say, a year ago, I would never have predicted where I am now. And where you are. I'm sorry, Jim. Really sorry for how I spoke to you. I can't tell you it didn't hurt, man - what you said. But it was time I looked at it from another perspective - you know? But I promise you...no, hey, let's not go back into all that, eh?"  
Another pause, and a big sigh.  
"All over now, right? A new year is coming and we all move on to new things. Sorry your trip here didn't work out, but in the end, maybe for the best, huh? No point risking dragging it all up again."  
Sudden, unconvincing cheerfulness.  
"And hey, you know what? Really lucky we never made those plans for you to come over here. Have you heard? Denver's socked in! Appalling conditions, even for here. The airport's shut, and likely to be for days, they say, given the weather forecast. Loads of people stranded for Christmas, or can't get home. See, you saved yourself all that stress!"  
A pause, and then a flat voice.  
"Okay, I better go. Merry Christmas, Jim. I wish you everything your heart desires, truly I do. Love you, man."

 ** _Christmas Eve - Cascade airport, 10pm_**  
Jim Ellison stared at the departure board, despair giving way to flat inevitability. Every line for Denver read the same:  
 _Cancelled. Cancelled. Cancelled._  
People with suitcases and presents stood despondently all around. He couldn't have cared less about them. The announcement sounded tinnily in the departure lounge.  
 _"We regret to announce that all flights to Denver, and related regional airports, are cancelled. At this present moment, we have no clear idea when they will recommence. This is on account of the extreme weather conditions east of the Rocky Mountains, and at Denver in particular. Please remain in the departure lounge and we will advise about further arrangements for delayed passengers shortly."_  
Jim shouldered his bag and turned on his heel, dumping his torn-up tickets in the nearest trash bin.  
+++++

* * *

**_New Year's Eve – Denver, 11.50pm_**  
"Hello?"  
"Sweetie? How are you? I thought I'd try to catch you as you came up to midnight! Are you celebrating?  
Blair looked around his tiny apartment.  
"Actually, Mom, I'm having a quiet time here. It's good, really. I mean, good to have some quiet time. It's all been so busy here, I'm pretty tired."  
"Still, I wish you could have made it over to New York. It's been such a great evening! The party's still going on! You can probably hear it!"  
"I know. Thanks, Mom, but I'm not really in a partying mood, right now. And I kinda hoped something was going to... well, that some kind of occasion was going to happen here, but in the end it didn't. Still, I'm best on my own, really."  
"Oh, sweetie, I'm sorry. I know you're missing Rainier. Smithson isn't what you really wanted, is it? Still, grin and bear it! It'll be worth it."  
 _Mom, what do you think you're talking about?_  
He bit his lip to stop himself speaking aloud.  
 _Naomi Sandburg, lecturing on perseverance? That’s a joke. And as to why I'm in Smithson, instead of Cascade...? Seriously, she'll never comprehend what she did, never in a million years. And after all, it wasn't just her. Both Jim and I played our part in this._  
"Sweetie, you still there?"  
"Yeah, sorry, Mom. Happy New Year to you. Now, go back to your party. I'm just fine."  
"Well..."  
"Go! Shoo!" He put a smile in his voice for her.  
"Well, okay then. But I worry about you..."  
 _Really, Mom?_  
"Really, Mom, I'm fine!"  
"All right, then. Happy New Year, sweetie. May everything work out for you in the year to come."  
"Thanks, Mom. You, too."  
She was gone.  
He closed the phone, placed it carefully on the little table by the side of the tatty couch, and slumped back. No, it wasn't all her fault, just as it wasn't all his or all Jim's. A lot of mistakes had been made all round, mistakes you couldn't come back from, not really. Stupid, delusional, to think you could. But he was equally convinced of something else - that what he had left in Cascade had been the best of him. He would regret its loss for the rest of his life.  
The phone chirped again. He reached out and flipped it open.  
"Mom, I'm fine, I promise you!"  
"Ah, Chief...?"  
"Jim! Wow, Jim! I didn't expect, I mean..."  
"That I wouldn't want to wish you Happy New Year?"  
Blair did his best to recover the slip.  
"It's just… I thought you would be at your dad's. Yeah, at your dad's, is what I meant."  
"Well, I am, but that doesn't stop me using the phone!"  
"Hey, I'm brain-dead here with fatigue, man. Don't mock the afflicted!"  
He heard Jim's quiet chuckle. God, he missed hearing Jim laugh.  
"You telling me you aren't out at a party, Sandburg?"  
"Hey, let me tell you, I turned down a shin-dig in NYC to get some rest. Naomi's just been regaling me with what I missed. It _is_ possible for me to have a quiet night in, you know? It's been known to happen!"  
"Well, I'll be looking for a blue moon over Cascade tonight. You okay, Chief? Really?"  
"I'm just fine, Jim. Nothing that a month's straight sleep won't solve. And you, man? How's the party?"  
"Like you'd imagine. Elderly people with plenty of right-wing views they're not embarrassed to share. Plus a few unlucky adult children dragged along, like me. It's a hoot."  
"Ah. Deanna there, is she?"  
"Deanna? Well, yeah, she is. Drew the short straw with her sisters this year, she says."  
"I bet she did," muttered Blair.  
"Huh?"  
"Ah, I mean I bet she's having a good time, really."  
"Well, I wouldn't know, Chief. What I do know, though, is that it feels real strange not to be celebrating New Year with you."  
"Yeah, I feel the same, man. Very strange. Still...."  
"Yeah, I know. What's done is done....."  
"Sometimes, you gotta bow to the practicalities, you know..."  
"I'm sorry, really sorry, Blair, for the things I said....  
"Hey, forget it, Jim. Really. I'm as much at fault. Let's just... put that behind us. We can't go back..."  
"No, I guess not. Can't undo things..."  
"Can't undo. Exactly..."  
There was a pause. Jim waited for Blair to carry on, but there was a heavy silence from the other end of the line. He drew a deep breath.  
"I wish you all the good fortune in the world, Chief, for the coming year. I hope it brings you all you wish for. You deserve it."  
There was a sniff.  
"Hey, man, don't make me blub, here!"  
Jim swallowed painfully.  
"Well, that goes for me, too, and I've got an image to uphold, remember?"  
"Oh, I remember," sniffed Blair, and all once, Jim realised his mistake in using the word. Jim Ellison - stone-faced, humourless, pain-in-the-ass...  
"Don't worry, man," came a chuckle. "Your secret is safe with me. To everyone else, you're still the world's toughest cop, no contest."  
Jim tried a laugh back. It didn't really work. Blair kept talking, his voice now quiet and grave.  
"And you, Jim. The same to you. I hope everything works out for you, man. It's been a great ride, I'll always remember it."  
"Me too, Chief."  
"You'd better go..."  
"Ah, yeah, I'd better go. Take care, Chief. I'm sorry we couldn't put it right."  
"Me too, Jim. So very sorry. Be careful."  
Blair closed the phone, and wondered why he was still so calm.  
+++++

* * *

**_January 2nd – Cascade._ **

7am - get up  
7.30am - drive to PD.  
8am - finish processing pre-Christmas paperwork  
9am - meeting with Simon about Mayor's security detail  
10am - assist Rafe and Brown in interviewing suspects in Christmas Mall raids  
11.30am - meet with Feds to discuss casework needed for Hanratty plea-bargain.  
12.30pm - sandwich lunch in break-room.  
12.40pm - abandon sandwich. Coffee undrinkable. Buy new bottle of water.  
12.45pm - Review evidence on Barton double murder, talk to Simon about inconsistencies in Homicide statements, meet with Simon and Captain - Homicide, to discuss.  
3pm - more bad coffee. Two donuts.  
3.10pm - urgent call-out to suspected arson sites in Docks, potentially connected to gang activity.  
4.30 - return to station, update Simon and receive further scheduling of meetings with Feds re Hanratty for Jan 3rd.  
5pm - leave PD and commence drive home.  
5.10pm - make U-turn in front of oncoming traffic on Bicentennial Boulevard and return to PD.  
+++++

* * *

**_January 2nd – Cascade, 5.25pm_**  
"Jim?" Simon looked up in surprise. "I thought you'd gone home for the day."  
"Yeah, well, I realised I forgot something. Simon, I need some days off."  
"What? It's just after the Christmas holiday! No way, Jim. Too much to do right now."  
"Sorry, Simon, but I have to insist. I have six days of holiday leave still outstanding. I want to take some personal days right now."  
"You insist? What is this, Jim? You know you can't have time off now. The Hanratty case still needs our input, and that double murder needs a lot more work. Brown tells me there's been more of those arson attacks, and have you forgotten the Mayor asked for you specifically to be part of his security detail for the function on Thursday?"  
"I'm well aware all those commitments, Captain. I'm also clear that I need this personal time."  
Simon looked in puzzlement and a great deal of annoyance at the man in front of him. Jim now stood to attention, the former soldier in every inch of his bearing. He stared over Simon's head, his face blank and unreadable.  
"Well, Detective, _I’m_ clear that the Department can't afford your absence right now, so request denied."  
"In that case, Captain, regard this as a notification. I shall be taking a number of personal days, starting now. Anything I'm working on can wait, you know that. There is no reason why my absence from the department would be a problem at the moment. Rafe and Brown have tabs on all the Mall cases and the arson incidents - we won't break them in the next few days anyway. The Feds don't need me on Hanratty. Anyone in Filing could sort out what's needed for the plea-bargain. It doesn't need a detective to do it."  
“I don't think you're hearing me correctly, _Detective_.” Simon was now seriously riled. “May I remind you that I am the officer who determines what resources are needed on cases, and which of my staff are to be allocated. And while we're on this subject, let me tell you how much your attitude and approach to other staff in the last months has been noticed, and deprecated, both by your colleagues and by senior officers."  
Jim's expression didn't change.  
"Is that a fact, Captain? Well, that surprises me, because I feel like I've been required to assist with just about everyone's cases lately. Maybe if I act a little pissed because if it, you could say that was maybe understandable. It's very easy, isn't it, sir, to get me to pull other people's work together when there's a problem, because you know I'll do it. Even though it cuts into my own working hours and means I work even harder than I normally do. And I do what you say, don't I? I work every hour you ask, more even. I don't blame you one bit - you're within your rights to work your staff as hard as you think fit, especially if you know they're amenable to spending their lives that way. No, you see, the trouble isn't you, Captain. It's me. I let you do it. I let you build up my caseload till it fills every possible minute. And I've realised that I let you do that, because if I lose myself in the work, because if I occupy my mind with all of that, then I don't need to give myself time to really think about my life. Think about the choices I should make, the things I should have done, and didn't, and whether I can put them right. The more I work, the easier it is to hide from these things. And it's time I did something about it."  
It was one of the longest speeches, minus _uh_ s and _ah_ s, that Simon had ever heard Jim give. He stared at his officer in bewilderment; was the workaholic Ellison finally going off the rails? What other psychological surprises were about to hit the PD? God knew, it had been bad enough since Sandburg left, after all that chaos with the dissertation and the senses.... The senses....?  
"Are you ill, Detective?" he ventured. "Only, you don't... you know..."  
"Oh, you noticed?" The dryness in Jim's voice was the first sign of animation from the man in the whole conversation. "Yeah, they're gone. Seems Sandburg leaving was good for something, eh?"  
Simon was taken aback. It was as if Jim were reading his thoughts.  
"Jim..."  
"And while we're on that subject, Captain, can I just point out how abject, how cheap, our attempts to help Sandburg in his difficulties were? How hard did that man work? How much of a contribution did he make to this Department? How often did he risk his own life in helping us, and in the end, destroyed his career for the same reason - taking the heat away from me and the PD? And what did we do in return? Offer him a post he couldn't have realistically filled, not if the rancour and suspicion we created in handling things hadn't be dealt with. It was no-win for him, all the way. So now he's rotting in an academic dead-end, worked to death on a fee-chasing treadmill. Did Personnel lean on you, Simon, when you cooked that badge idea up? Did they persuade you that he ought to be so grateful, he would never think of suing the PD for personal and reputational injuries suffered? Hey? Because you should have known he would never even think of it. And I should have had more concern to do the right thing by him, instead of convincing myself that he couldn't do better than end up as partner to the great Jim Ellison, the man for whom 'thank you' is an unknown concept. We should have supported him, Simon - helped him with Rainier. It was possible. Hell, it still is. But, you know, we just made our assumptions and sent him away...."  
"Jim," ventured Simon, his voice quite soft, "is this really about the PD, or about you?"  
"You think about that, Captain. In the meantime, I'm taking those personal days I told you about."  
The door closed quietly behind him, and Simon sat staring at the glass panel for some minutes, lost in thought.  
+++++

* * *

**_January 3rd – Cascade, 11.15am_**  
Blair pushed open the door to Major Crimes. It all looked unusually quiet. There were some secretaries working, women he didn't know; no Rhonda. Simon's office looked unoccupied. Joel's desk was covered in paper, but the man was missing. A smart jacket hung on one empty chair - Rafe's no doubt, but that detective, too, was absent. Only one friendly face remained, deep in contemplation of some scene-of-crime photos.  
"Say, Henri...?"  
Henri Brown's head snapped up, and his face split into a huge grin.  
"Blair, my man!"  
Blair walked forward, and in a moment was enveloped in a bear hug.  
"Hairboy, it's real good to see you, you know," beamed Henri as he set Blair on his feet again. "You back for good?"  
"Just a quick trip, man. I never got away at the holidays. Thought I'd come to Cascade, call on Jim for a few days."  
Henri's face fell.  
"Really? Boy, that's bad luck, it truly is. Jim's just gone on vacation."  
Blair's stomach fell to his boots.  
"On vacation? Wow... I mean, I didn't expect... _Vacation?_ "  
Henri shook his head.  
"He never told you? Man, he's something. Took us all by surprise, though. He just walked in here yesterday evening and told Simon he was taking some personal days, no buts. I think the Captain was a mite surprised, if you know what I mean? Rafe and me have had Jim helping us quite a lot recently, so him being gone is a bit of a shock. Plus we have to look at this weird double murder too, that he was dealing with. And Simon now has to cope with the Feds on Hanratty. He ain't happy about that, I can tell you. Personally I put it all down to _luuurrrvve_!"  
Henri gave a theatrical wink.  
"What?" Blair managed to force the word out.  
"This Deanna babe. She's been turning up a lot. I reckon they've snuck off for some January sun, somewhere. Maybe a quiet wedding too..."  
"A _wedding_?"  
"Well, I don't know that for sure, of course. But he's been real attentive to her. Always off when she calls, always seeing her for lunch dates. It looks pretty serious to me. I guess that's why he didn't take no for an answer when the Captain told him he couldn't take the days - he just walked out. That's what _luuurrrvve_ will do to you."  
"Yeah," breathed Blair, "I know."  
He shook himself out of his shock.  
"So, you don't know when he's due back?"  
"No idea. But look, I gotta go. I got a meeting down in Homicide to review their case files. Mind you call back in here before you go back, Hairboy. The gang have missed you. We should all go for a beer."  
He shook Blair's hand.  
"Catch you later!"  
Blair waved vaguely back at him as Henri disappeared through the door, and then found himself sinking into a chair. Jim - gone! How could he have been so wrong about something? New Year's Eve when he had talked to Jim, yesterday when he worked it all out in his mind, it had seemed so clear. Surely Jim had hinted he was as sad as Blair? Surely there had been the merest chink there, for reconciliation? How blind could Blair be? Still so blind, after all these years, all these setbacks.  
He felt numb. Slowly he got up, and made his sluggish way to the elevators, forcing himself to think of options. His air ticket was open-ended, so he could go back later today- no problem. But it would be a late flight. He had no wish to revisit old haunts in Cascade, but there was an aching loneliness and grief in him now that made him long for some familiarity and comfort. Maybe it would be okay to call in at the Loft for a few hours. Jim had made him keep his key - always open to him, he had told Blair - and Blair himself had, in his heart of hearts, nurtured the secret, and vain, hope that one day he might be back there.  
 _Stupid, childish, deluded..._  
Yes, Jim surely wouldn't mind if he just sat there for a while? He may not even notice Blair had been there, not _now_ , anyhow. Somewhere to rest, somewhere to say goodbye, even if he was on his own....  
+++++

* * *

**_January 3rd - Denver Smithson, 1.15pm_**  
Jim followed the directions given by the security guard, walking briskly and still feeling the frustration at the morning's airport delays that meant he was arriving nearly two hours later than scheduled - never had his patience been so sorely tried as that morning.  
At first sight, the place had seemed like a flashy corporate set-up - a lot of glass and chrome - but as he went up to the other floors, the building became a lot more utilitarian. He made his way along a long quiet corridor on the third floor following signs for ‘Anthropology’, and eventually found the door marked 'Lecturers'. He took a deep breath, knocked briskly and pushed it open.  
Inside he saw five desks, each with a couple of panels around them to give an allusion of privacy, and each without an occupant. At the sixth desk, minus panels and closest to the door, sat a young blonde woman in jeans and an ethnic print shirt, busily shuffling through some papers.  
"Ah, hi..." he began.  
The girl stood up, dumping the papers into a tray marked 'Filing' on a side table, and grabbed a jacket from the back of her chair.  
"Sorry, but I'm out of here. I've got lectures to go to. Come back in an hour - some of the TAs might be here by then."  
"No," said Jim quickly, "please don't go. I'm looking for Blair Sandburg. Can you tell me where he is? It's very important."  
The girl froze as she bent to pick up her bag, and stared with curiosity at Jim.  
"You Jim?"  
"Yes," replied Jim with an earnest smile. "Yes, I am. Are you Rosie? We spoke on the phone."  
"Wow! I'm so pleased to meet you, Jim! I'm sorry, I really can't stay to chat. But Blair's not here. He didn't turn up today for his teaching, and the TAs are running around trying to cover for him."  
Jim frowned.  
"Is he sick? Can you maybe give me his address?"  
"Well, I could, but I'm really not sure whether he's there. You see, the story going round - and I heard this from the girl who works for the faculty, is that he walked into the Dean's office yesterday evening, and told him he was taking some leave, and the Dean said he couldn't take leave because of the teaching and coaching he's supposed to do, and Blair told him to shove the teaching post and the Doctorate, he was leaving Smithson right away, and just walked out. He hasn't finished his diss or anything. We're a bit worried, really, but - you know - what can you do?"  
She gave a helpless shrug, and started to make for the door. Jim reached for her arm and checked her.  
"His address? And which is his desk, please?"  
She looked hard at him.  
"I'm glad he's got a friend like you, Jim. Take care of him, huh? The address is in that rolodex there, and that's his desk over in the corner." She indicated the far cubby-hole.  
Jim nodded and let go of her arm. She gave him a sympathetic smile and went out of the door.  
 _A friend like me_ , thought Jim. _Boy, is he lucky to have a friend like me._  
He reached for the rolodex, found the card for _'Sandburg'_ quickly, and jotted the address down on a phone message pad. Then he went over to Blair's desk.  
It was unnaturally tidy - empty, even. There was a pile of workbooks sitting in an out-tray, clearly already marked. There was a schedule of teaching sessions pinned to one of the privacy panels, and another of faculty meetings. Between them, they seemed to cover anything up to fifteen hours a day, and even then there were little addenda in red pen added in Blair's own hand, indicating extra sessions of one thing or another. Jim shook his head at the bleakness of it all, of the exile he had helped create for Blair, and sank down into the uncomfortable office chair by the desk.  
He methodically pulled out the desk drawers; nothing of personal significance remained, just a few pencils, and felt tip marker pens and paper-clips, dust and crumbs. There were pinholes in the panels at other places, where more personal things, maybe, had once been affixed, but had been taken down when he left - by Blair himself, he guessed. But other than a clear sense of desolation and emptiness, which to be fair, emanated from the rest of Smithson anyway, he had no clue as to what might have happened to Blair.  
There was another tray on the desk, marked 'In', its sole contents being an empty jotter pad. Jim picked it up and flicked through the pages. Nothing, nothing. Then he noticed the way the first page caught the light from the overhead fluorescent strip. He looked at the page again, and ran his fingers across the paper. He could feel the indentations easily, he realised, with a kind of absent surprise. Already those soft sweeping touches were translating into his brain as words, but he hardly noticed. Primarily, he was registering his basic detective's intuition that something important had been jotted down there, something that Blair had torn off to keep.  
He grabbed a pencil from the drawer and started shading the graphite tip across the page, the emerging words confirming what his senses had already told him, what he simply knew....  
 _Denver 8.52am Cascade 12.22 s/o SLC  
Denver 6 Cascade 8.10 Nonstop  
Denver 8 Cascade 10.11 Nonstop_  
The last timing had been outlined with a circle.  
Jim felt his heart leap. He bit his lip and stared at the jotter for a few moments, then reached for the phone.  
+++++

* * *

**_January 3rd - Cascade, 12.30pm_**  
Blair put down his backpack in the centre of the lounge and looked around him. It had been a mistake, coming here. Not just because it reminded him so painfully of all the good times that he'd seen in the Loft; his presence there that afternoon seemed to him now to sum up all that was wrong. He had come back for Jim, but Jim was already gone.  
He could feel both the man's presence, and his absence. But however empty the apartment looked - and it seemed emptier now of creature comforts than when he had first moved in, three years before - it was still full of the sense of Jim; what Blair knew he craved the most, and yet now had no chance of attaining.  
He turned in a slow circle, registering in turn the couch, the stereo, the kitchen counter and the stove, the refrigerator still humming to itself in the corner, the roof window-lights, the balcony window with winter sunlight weakly filtering through it. He gave into temptation and went to the door of his old room, pushing it gently open to survey the neat blankness inside. He was only slightly puzzled that it seemed Jim hadn't begun to use it for anything else. The futon still stood there, its mattress neatly folded, but nothing else.  
 _Enough_ , he thought. He was about to shut the door again when the phone rang. The unexpected sound, so loud in the quiet Loft, made him start. He turned and stared at the ringing phone, fighting the urge to go and pick it up, answering it like he would have done over those past years. But he couldn't. This wasn't his home now, this wasn't his phone. And no one would be ringing for him.  
The recorder message kicked in.  
 _"Ellison residence. Leave a message."_  
Blair was suddenly panicked. He shouldn't be there. This was an invasion of Jim's privacy. He shouldn't be in a position where he was listening to Jim's phone messages. He grabbed the backpack and rushed to the door, trying hard not to hear the caller's voice as it started to leave the message.  
 _"Chief, if you're there, pick up, will you?"_  
It stopped him in his tracks. He had a ridiculous notion that Jim was there in the room with him, and turned in shock, staring in bewilderment at the phone.  
 _"Okay",_ said the phone _"I guess my hunch didn't pay off. Okay, I'll try the PD, but if you come home... I mean , come back to the Loft… and hear this, will you call me on the cell phone? Please? As soon as you can?"_  
Blair lunged across the room, grabbing the phone before Jim had a chance to ring off.  
"I'm here. I'm here. I'm so sorry, Jim, I thought maybe you wouldn't mind if I called back in here, just for a while, until my flight back. I didn't mean to pry, Jim. I just wanted a last look, you know? I'm really sorry, I'm leaving now."  
" _Sandburg!_ " shouted Jim down the phone line, stopping his babbling. “Will you just quieten down? God, I hoped you'd be there."  
"Did you talk to Henri?" asked Blair, still fazed by the sudden contact with Jim. "I called at the PD. He told me you were on vacation, man. Bad planning, huh? I wouldn't have come here if I'd known you were off on vacation with Deanna, truly I wouldn't. I just thought...”  
“Whoa, whoa, whoa! Hold on a minute there, Professor! I’m _what?_ Henri told you _what?_ ”  
Blair swallowed painfully.  
“That’s the news at the PD, Jim. You and Deanna – you went on vacation with her. And, you know, I am _really_ pleased for you, man. I really hope this all works out for you. You deserve…”  
“Sandburg, will you just quit this drivel? Henri Brown … God help me, I could punch him on the nose. He needs to have his detective’s badge taken away from him if that’s what he’s figured is going on.”  
Blair rubbed his forehead, frowning.  
“Jim, I’m sorry to intrude, okay? I’m just repeating what I’ve been told, and anyway it’s no business of mine…”  
“Will you just shut up a minute and think? Just _think_! Where am I, Chief? Where am I going to be, right now? The way things have been going lately, if _you’re_ in Cascade, where am _I_ going to be? Huh?”  
Blair’s eyes popped wide.  
“No!”  
“Oh, yes!”  
“No, no, Jim! You’re in…? You can’t be!”  
“Your office, in fact.” He could hear the laughter in Jim’s voice.  
Blair sank onto the couch, still clutching the phone to his ear, and started to shake, and shake, and then the laughter just burst out of him. He rolled helplessly on the couch, tears streaming down his face. There might have been tears of relief, as well, but he wasn’t thinking too hard, right then. Down the phone, he could hear the deep rumble signifying that Jim was similarly afflicted.  
“We… are… two sad… bastards…” he eventually managed, between outbreaks of giggles.  
“The… worst,” spluttered Jim. “Pathetic, clueless…”  
“Badly organised. No! _Appallingly_ organised…”  
“Shouldn’t be… allowed out… alone…”  
The hysteria gradually subsided, save for exhausted little chuckles from time to time on either side.  
“Who’s in the office?” asked Blair, hardly caring but revelling in the ridiculous feeling of relief and happiness.  
“Absolutely nobody.”  
“Figures.”  
“This what it’s usually like?”  
“Yep.”  
“I hope you’re not coming back here.”  
“I think that’s a given, Jim. There should be a pall of smoke from my burnt bridges hanging over the Dean’s office even now.”  
Jim snorted.  
“Why, Jim?” Blair asked suddenly.  
“Huh? Why what? Why have I been acting like an asshole? Why did you leave? Why did everything dissolve into crap…?”  
“Why are you in Denver?”  
“Idiot. Why are you in Cascade.”  
“Oh.”  
“ _’Oh’_. Of course, _’Oh’_!”  
“Cut me some slack here. Things have been difficult to work out.”  
“Tell me about it.”  
A comfortable pause, then Jim cleared his throat.  
“Look, Chief, I won’t pretend that this is all sorted, but the fact we’re in this positon right now tells me something - tells me a lot, actually.”  
“Me, too, Jim.”  
“So, whaddayou say – you stay put in Cascade and I’ll come back to you. And we’ll talk.”  
 _And I’ll come back to you._  
“Good plan, Jim. And in the meantime, I’ll go…”  
“No! Don’t leave the Loft! God knows where you’ll disappear to if you do! Just stay put, promise me!”  
Blair grinned  
“Jim, I can just predict you need some groceries. There’s practically tumbleweed sailing round this place. Look, if I remember right, there’s a flight at about 3.30, if you can get a ticket, that gets in before 6. If you get moving now, you could be in the Loft by 7. I could have dinner waiting…”  
He heard a sigh.  
“Okay, okay, I can allow that. Just to the local store, agreed?”  
“Or I could meet you at the airport?” added Blair, mischievously. There was a predictable splutter.  
“No! Out of bounds, okay? Stay near the Loft. I want to see you there when I get back! Besides, the truck’s at the airport parking.”  
“Okay, Great Sentinel. I’ll stay put…”  
Blair faltered, realising what he had said. But Jim’s response was soft.  
“It’s okay, Chief. They came back. The moment I sat at your desk, they came right back. I guess you’re right, I can’t ignore them. They’re part of me. And so are you.”  
There was a kind of embarrassed silence for a moment. Blair didn’t know how to reply; how not to break the spell, but also how not to lose himself completely. Eventually he went for practical.  
“Get out of there. Jim. Get that flight home as soon as you can. Let me know when to expect you.”  
“On my way, Chief.” Jim’s voice was warm with understanding. “Call you later.”  
Blair closed the phone, got up and went to the refrigerator. Inside, he inventoried four bottles of beer, three of water, a pack of mouldy cheese, and some leftover pizza – two days old, from the look of it. He tutted, closed the refrigerator again, and walked towards the Loft door, heading out.  
Halfway there, he threw up his hands and, whooping, leapt high in the air, his eyes bright and his hair flying in all directions.  
+++++

* * *

**_January 3rd – Denver, 3.10pm_**  
 _“Ellison residence. Leave a message.”_  
“Blair? You there, Chief? Okay, I guess you’re at the grocery store. Right, just calling to let you know things are going our way for once. I’ve got a ticket for that 3.25 flight. Should be a 5.30 arrival at Cascade, or thereabouts. Depending on traffic, I should be home… well, you know the score. If there’s any serious hold-up, I’ll call you again. See you later!”  
Jim closed the phone, and looked round the departure lounge, beaming expansively. The smile was still on his face as his ticket was checked by the girl at the desk, and she responded with her own winning dimples. Jim merely nodded at her absently. She took another approach.  
“Looking forward to your evening in Cascade, sir?” she simpered.  
Jim took back his ticket and picked up his bag again.  
“Like you wouldn’t believe,” he replied happily, as he made off. The girl at the desk had the distinct impression he wasn’t actually talking to her.  
+++++

* * *

**_January 3rd – Cascade, 3.25pm._**  
Okay, so he’d gone to that bakery Jim liked, as well. It was only a couple of blocks from the grocery place, and the proprietor had insisted on serving him coffee and a danish as a welcome-home gesture, so it all had taken rather longer than he’d planned. Success on the bread front, sure, but still, he wished he hadn’t actually missed Jim’s call. Too many missed calls already in this whole saga. But at least Jim would be in the air by now.  
He dumped the bags on the counter and started sorting them out. Casserole beef, onions, garlic, greens and carrots; a heart-warming dish for a cold evening, and the wonderful bread from the corner bakery would be just right to go with it. He shucked off his jacket and started work. In moments, oil was sizzling and onions were frying, and the beef was browning nicely. Humming to himself, he popped open a bottle of red wine to add it to the stock – the rest would be drunk later - and found to his delight some relict dried herbs in the back of one of the cupboards. The stock was finished, and swirling in amongst the beef mixture. He checked the oven and put the casserole in, turning the heat down a little so that the dish had a chance to cook slowly over the next few hours, and keep as long as they needed it to. He washed down the counter, dried his hands and put the towel on the rack.  
He looked at the clock - 4.15.  
He sat down on the couch and picked up a random magazine lying on the table – _Mountain Stream Fly Fishing_. He spent some minutes flicking through the pages until he accepted that he really wasn’t seeing any of the words.  
He looked at the clock – 4.20. God, he was bored.  
He got up and went to the window, pondering. The traffic still wasn’t too bad, at that time of the afternoon. He could make it to the airport in 40 minutes, easy. And what a surprise for the Great Sentinel! Stay in the Loft, my ass! Things were going to change, and they started now!  
Blair went back to the couch, ripped off the back page of _‘Mountain Stream Fly Fishing’_ and, with a felt-tip from his jacket, scrawled something on it. Then he grabbed his coat and made for the door, grinning from ear to ear.  
+++++

* * *

**_January 3rd - Eastern Airport Boulevard, Cascade, 6.10pm_ ******  
Jim swung the truck out onto the airport freeway and groaned at the tail-lights in front of him. Not only had de-planing taken a ridiculous amount of time, but now there was traffic problem - great. Still, the line seemed to be moving, and at least it wasn’t as bad as the gridlock on the other side, coming into the airport.  
With one eye on the traffic, he picked up his phone and punched in the number for the Loft.  
 _“Ellison residence. Leave a message.”_  
“Chief, you there?”  
 _Where the hell was he now, for crying out loud?_  
“Just to let you know, the plane was a little late, and the ticket gates were chaos, and now there’s some traffic, but I should still make it home by 7 or so. And I hope you’ve got a real good reason for not being in the Loft right now!” He grinned into the phone. “Okay, I’ll see you later.”  
He rang off, and for good measure hit the number that was Blair’s cell phone; unobtainable. Knowing Blair, that could mean no charge or no credit. He sighed, closed the phone and dropped it on the passenger seat.  
+++++

* * *

**_January 3rd – Eastern Airport Boulevard, Cascade – 6.15pm._**  
“I never seen this,” said the taxi guy. “I can’t believe it’s taken this long to get to the airport. That jam downtown, first of all? That was bad luck, sure, but now this? What the hell is going on with this airport?”  
In the back seat, Blair was still jiggling up and down with impatience, but now was also figuratively kicking himself for having been so foolhardy. Even after the jam in the city, he could have made the flight time, but this gridlock was making it impossible. Worst of all, the cab was well and truly stuck in the flow into the airport. His only hope now was to stay on board, hope he had enough cash to pay the guy, and look for a bus back when they finally got there, if he still had the bus fare. Jim would be home for hours before him, at this rate. He sighed – time to eat humble-pie.  
He pulled out his phone, framing the apology as he opened it up, only to read the inevitable - no charge. He cursed softly, and settled back to stare at the slightly faster line of traffic on the opposite highway, hoping for a glimpse of a familiar truck. Jim must surely be on the road right now.  
A sudden, immense noise – a massive percussion - brought his head round sharply.  
“Oh, Jesus Christ Almighty…!” shouted the cab driver  
+++++

* * *

**_January 3rd – Eastern Airport Boulevard, Cascade – 6.15pm_**  
Jim had accelerated easily past some sluggish cars and was beginning to relax a little more as the traffic began to flow more freely. But then, up ahead, he could see a couple of trucks making a meal of overtaking a fuel-tanker, and that wasn’t helping things – especially as the fuel-tanker seemed unwilling to let them pass. Some horns were blowing, and he gritted his teeth at the stupidity of other drivers. Pity there weren’t any traffic cops around right now – they should book the lot of them…  
Then he heard it; a high-pitched squealing sound, like metal under terrible stress. He was shaking his head to clear his ears, trying to place where it was coming from, when one of the tanker’s offside tyres blew. There was a terrible screeching of brakes and the tanker slewed sideways, cannoning into the leading truck, which smashed into the barrier on the median. The second truck ploughed straight into the tanker, flipping it over onto the other highway, where the cars sat in tight lines, completely unable to avoid the oncoming catastrophe.  
He slammed on his brakes, pulling the truck onto the hard-shoulder and up the embankment, away from the traffic behind him. He jumped out, grabbing the mic from his police radio and pressing the call button.  
“Despatch! Detective Ellison, reporting multiple pile-up on outbound Eastern Airport Boulevard. A tanker and a truck have gone straight through the barrier into the traffic on the other side. There’re a lot of crushed vehicles…” – he homed in his sight some more – “…yeah, ten, fifteen very badly damaged at least, and other pile-ups all around on both highways. There’ll be a lot of trapped people. Get the fire-crews out, and the ambulances, and…”  
There was a flash and a roar, and the world was stained with an orange light.  
“…Jesus! Oh, dear God, the tanker’s blown up! Okay, get as many teams here as possible. Alert all the hospitals. I’m going to see what I can do.”  
He threw the mic back into the car seat, barely hearing the despatcher’s acknowledgment, and raced down the embankment, leaping around cars that were still trying to negotiate the scene.  
“Get the fuck out of here!” he shouted. “Get your car off the highway and get out! Go up on the ridge!”  
He kept going, very conscious of the likelihood of more vehicles exploding. There was flaming gasoline around his feet, and in his ears the cries and screams of the people trapped, and of panicking crowds on the highway, and all around, the orange light of the fire. It was like running into Hell.  
+++++

* * *

**_January 3rd – Cascade, 9.15pm_**  
“Banks.”  
“Simon, it’s Jim.”  
“What do you want, Detective?” asked Simon coolly, his eyes on the TV images of the crash site at the airport.  
“Sorry, Simon, I know I need to apologise but that has to wait. I’m borrowing a paramedic’s phone to call you, as I left mine in the truck. You know about that crash at the airport tonight?”  
Simon stiffened in anticipation of bad news.  
“We’re just watching the news. Tell me you weren’t in it? Are you okay?””  
“I saw it happen, yeah. I’ve been trying to help get some of the trapped people out. The casualties are all dealt with now, and I’m back at General with them, but my truck is still on the outward embankment of Airport Boulevard. I was hoping….”  
Simon twisted and pulled his jacket from his chair.  
“I’m on my way, Jim. We didn’t get called out, as the fire-crews and Traffic got it all under control, but it looked real bad.”  
“It was,” replied Jim heavily. “Very bad. A lot of casualties, and especially burns.”  
Simon could hear the fatigue and bleakness in his friend’s voice.  
“Thing is,” continued Jim, “Sandburg will be waiting in the Loft for me, and I can’t really use this phone again. Could you ring him? Tell him I’m okay, and I’ll be home soon?”  
“Sure…but Sandburg? At the Loft?”  
“Yep. I went to Denver, he came to Cascade. Predictable, huh? I gotta go, Simon. Thank you.”  
Simon put down the phone, and realised that he was grinning.  
+++++

* * *

**_January 3rd – Cascade General Hospital, 9.50pm_**  
Jim had just finished having his arm bandaged when he saw Simon threading through the crowd in the Casualty department, waving his badge to get access. He raised his free arm in greeting.  
“You _are_ hurt!” said Simon with a frown, as he drew closer.  
“Nah, a scratch.”  
“A very nasty scratch,” snapped the over-worked nurse doing the bandaging. “And it took ages for him to confess he had an injury. I’m surprised he hasn’t more, given what he was doing out there.”  
“Well done, Detective,” smiled Simon proudly.  
“You his boss?” asked the nurse, picking up her bandages and kit.  
“For my sins.”  
“Well, he’s been a real godsend here, this guy. Thanks, Detective.” She gave Jim a quick smile and hurried off.  
Simon looked around him, at the laden gurneys in the corridors and the walking wounded bandaged and blanketed on every available seat.  
“Jesus.”  
“Yeah,” said Jim, easing into his coat. “There’s a lot of people in surgery, and at least 15 dead. Maybe more to come. Happy New Year to us all. Tanker driver was going too fast, jousting with those trucks, then his tyre blew. It was carnage. The cars on the other highway didn’t stand a chance.”  
Simon shook his head in mute despair and sympathy.  
“You speak to Sandburg, yeah?” asked Jim, already moving off. He turned again, realising Simon hadn’t moved.  
“Jim,” his Captain began heavily, “Jim, I called the Loft but there was no answer, so I dropped by there anyway - figured he would want to ride out here with me. But there was no one there, just this note stuck on the door.”  
He pulled the torn page of a magazine out of his pocket, and passed it to Jim. In Sandburg’s characteristic hasty scrawl, it read:  
 _‘If you’re reading this, my plan has failed! I wanted to meet you at the airport, but I guess I’ve missed you. Story of our lives, huh? See you later!’_  
Jim stared at the note and then looked at Simon, his face white. The paper dropped from his hands, and he grabbed hold of a nearby chair to steady himself.  
“Jim, it doesn’t mean…” started Simon.  
“He was on the opposite highway. He must have been on the opposite highway. The timings… my flight was late and the traffic on the other side before the crash was at a standstill. Oh God, Simon, he was in all that!”  
Simon gripped Jim’s shoulder briefly, and then, still brandishing his badge, strode up to a harassed-looking doctor with a clipboard.  
“Sir, I’m Captain Simon Banks of the Police Department. One of my men may have been in this incident, probably on the inbound side of the boulevard. Could you check his name, please?”  
The doctor looked up, irritated, but his face softened as he saw Jim the background.  
“Oh, Detective Ellison! Good work out there! Ah...” he turned to Simon, “… his name , please?  
“Sandburg. Blair Sandburg.”  
The doctor leafed through his clipboard, muttering _“Sandburg, Sandburg…”_ then looked up again.  
“Not on my list. Of course, we sadly have some fatalities as yet unidentified.”  
“No, Simon,” broke in Jim, “He’s not here. I’d know if he were here, dead or alive.”  
The doctor looked puzzled, and Simon took the man’s arm to distract him.  
“His partner,” he explained in a confidential tone, wondering exactly which meaning of the word he was now using. “Is there anywhere else where casualties might be?”  
“A lot of the inbound highway casualties were taken to Mercy. Also, most of the fatalities. Their morgue is bigger, you see…”  
“Thank you, Doctor,” called Simon, already moving towards the doors, on Jim’s heels.  
+++++

* * *

**_January 3rd - Cascade Mercy Hospital, 10.15pm_**  
Simon pushed through the little knots of people in the reception area, and hailed a passing administrator.  
“Captain Banks, PD” he said, waving his badge again. “Could you check if you have someone from the crash here, please? Name of Sandburg – Blair Sandburg.”  
Before she could answer, Jim had grabbed his arm, pointing across the room.  
“Oh, Blair?” The administrator pointed in the same direction, over to the far side of the open area. “He’s over there.”  
Simon looked, and saw a dark head leaning close to small girl of about 6 or 7 years. He glanced back at Jim and registered that Jim had collapsed onto a bench, staring slack-jawed at the two of them.  
“He’s looking after a little girl,” continued the administrator. “Her mother was one of the people he managed to free from the cars. The little girl is okay, but the mother’s in surgery. We’re waiting for the father to turn up - he was flying into Cascade - but she won’t let Blair go, so we’ve just left him to it.”  
“Is he okay?” asked Simon, still staring at the distant figure.  
“Remarkably, yes. The paramedics who brought them in said he was in the thick of it. Is he one of yours, Captain?”  
“Well, yes. Yes, he is.” As he said the words, Simon realised how proud he was to acknowledge that fact, and yet…  
“Well, he’s done the PD proud. Oh, look, that’s the father, I guess.”  
A man was hurrying though the crowd, followed by a nurse. The little girl raised her head, and went flying into his arms. Blair stood, and the new arrival, still holding his daughter, spoke to him for a few moments, grasping his hand firmly. Then Blair patted the little girl on the head, and the reduced family moved away.  
“Will her mom be all right?” asked Simon.  
“We don’t know, right now,” replied the administrator non-committally. “Why don’t you go over to him?” She went on her way.  
Simon started walking. He saw Blair turn to get the attention of another passing nurse.  
“Hey,” he heard him say. “I need to get hold of the PD – Major Crimes. Can you…?”  
“You don’t need to call Major Crimes, son,” boomed Simon. “We’ve come to you!”  
Blair looked up. His face was ravaged - pale, haggard, and streaked with soot, and blood, and dirt.  
“Simon? Oh, Simon! Is Jim…? I can’t find Jim!”  
Simon grinned and turned, pointing at the figure on the chair. Blair stared, stock-still, then rushed past him and fell to his knees in front of Jim. And Simon saw Jim’s arms come round Blair’s back, pulling him close, their heads pressing together. It was difficult to tell where one man started and the other began.  
+++++

* * *

**_January 4th – Cascade, 10am_**  
Blair stretched, luxuriating in the comfort of the bed and the soft sheets, and the warmth all around him. He always knew Jim’s bed would be bliss to sleep in. And do other things besides.  
Said owner of bed was downstairs just then, talking on the phone. Blair wasn’t sure if that had been what had woken him – he had just drifted up out of wonderful, rested sleep, his whole body relaxed and his mind floating on unknown levels of happiness.  
He let that mind spool back over the previous night. The relief at finding Jim alive had made him physically weak, but Jim had been similarly affected. The two of them had supported each other out to Simon’s car and they had sat together in the back seat, Jim holding firmly onto Blair’s hand all the way back to the Loft. There, Simon had made a rapid, but graceful, exit, saying touching words which Blair hadn’t really registered at the time, but would mull over with pleasure much later, he felt.  
Then it was just the two of them. They exchanged few words about the crash – too horrific to dwell on. The only thing worth talking about, thinking about, was that they were there, alive, together...  
By silent agreement, each took a shower separately to wash off the traces of the hell they had walked through, then Blair dressed in borrowed sweats, and Jim put on his robe, and they inspected the casserole. It was now a bumpy layer at the bottom of the dish, so they ignored it and extracted the old cheese from the refrigerator, Blair scraping off the mould while Jim poured out the red wine. Then they put the bread into the oven to warm through.  
It was in front of the oven, waiting for the bread, that they shared their first kiss, Jim’s fingers threading through Blair’s hair, and Blair running his hands over every inch of Jim’s broad back, rejoicing in its living pulse and vibrant heat. And then Jim bit at Blair’s lower lip, and Blair found himself pushing hard back, kissing with fury, trying to make up for all the missed kisses that should have been, but had never happened.  
Still flushed and slightly breathless, they ate the bread and shared the wine, then made their way upstairs, taking the bottle and glasses with them. Jim surprised him with a hesitation he would never have expected; the man who had paraded shirtless though the Loft as a matter of course when they had been room-mates now seemed almost shy. ‘Have we changed so much?’ Blair had thought, and then realised that yes, they had. Or at least, circumstances had changed, and there was now a chance for honesty between them.  
So he had pulled off his own clothes and divested Jim of his robe, revelling in the sight of the beautiful man in front of him, and they had kissed some more, and drunk some more wine, and neither made any further move until Blair, in a moment of inspired eroticism, had dipped his finger into his glass and run it down Jim’s face, from temple to jawline.  
Jim had closed his eyes and stretched his head back like a petted cat, so Blair dipped more fingers and stroked them across Jim’s mouth. Jim had sucked them in, licking the red wine off them, and then pulled Blair forcefully onto the bed, lying him flat, biting his neck and collarbone so that Blair had thrown back his head and howled. He had wrapped his legs around Jim, pulling hard, and had found unexpected satisfaction in how their respective strengths had balanced out perfectly in the act of love. As to the act itself, it was joy unlike Blair had ever experienced, and as they had gasped and shuddered in each other’s arms, he had seen the word _‘Forever’_ hovering in the air above the bed, sparkling with diamonds and little lights.  
Few words were said, but, for once in his life, Blair felt completely at ease with that. He felt the moment for talking would come, maybe too soon, but right there and then, he had wanted to rejoice in their symmetry, and their deep connection. He didn’t – couldn’t - think that either of them could deny it anymore.  
He heard the whispered telephone call conclude, then Jim making another. Curious, he strained to hear the words.  
 _“… another look. Yeah, that would be great - about noon? See you there...”_  
The phone call ended, and he could hear Jim climbing the stairs. He turned languidly to smile at the other man as he entered the bedroom.  
“Simon’s getting uniforms to drop the truck back later,” said Jim. Blair merely stretched again, lasciviously, allowing the covers to fall away from his bare hips. The pure hunger in Jim’s eyes was very satisfying indeed. He saw the robe discarded on the floor, and then Jim was looming over him, trailing his hands across Blair’s thighs and dropping light kisses on his abdomen.  
“Hey, Chief,” he murmured, between the kisses, “you fancy getting up?”  
“I am up, Jim, or hadn’t you noticed?”  
Jim grinned and straddled him. Blair bit his lip in anticipation.  
“I mean in a little while. To go out? You okay with that?”  
“Ask me in a little while,” whispered Blair, arching up shamelessly between Jim’s legs.  
+++++

* * *

**_January 4th – Cascade, noon._**  
They took a cab from the Loft, the promised truck still not having been delivered, and Jim maintained a mysterious silence as they were driven out of the city and towards the southern bay area. Blair played irritated, but in truth was happily snuggled next to Jim in the back seat, their hands entwined out of sight. Around noon, they were driving through ruined warehouses and factories that were clearly having a makeover into light industrial units and residential properties. What was being built looked interesting, and in keeping with the rugged semi-wildness that started not far from the old factory development around them. The vistas out to sea were endless, and the light was crisp and clear, even on that cold, overcast day.  
At the far end of the development stood an intriguing building; foursquare at the bottom, it rose to a slightly smaller first floor, and then to a turret at the top. With its whitewashed exterior, it looked like a weird wedding cake. A small car was waiting and, as they drew up, a young woman – long, dark hair, very lovely – got out and waved. As Jim paid the cab-driver, she came hurrying over, her hand outstretched.  
“Are you Blair?” she asked, with a firm handshake. “I’m so pleased to meet you. Jim has told me so much about you! I’m Deanna Stevens.”  
Blair gaped a little, jolted back into an unpleasant reality by the mention of the name. He was saved from having to answer by Jim coming up to kiss Deanna lightly on the cheek, and put his arm warmly around Blair’s shoulders.  
“You’ve finally met,” he said with a grin, giving Blair a little shake. Deanna handed Jim a set of keys.  
“You want me to go in with you, or look on your own this time?”  
“On our own, I think. But I really need a favour. I’ve lost the truck for the day. Could you hang around and give us a ride back to town in a while?”  
Deanna grinned.  
“No problem. And maybe some lunch, if it’s time to talk terms?”  
Jim shrugged.  
“Let’s see, after the viewing.”  
Blair found himself ushered gently towards the building. Still bemused, he nonetheless was conscious of the quiet serenity of the place. The wedding-cake house was far enough away from the redevelopment site not to be disturbed much by building noise – and once the building was done, it could be very quiet indeed, he thought. The wedding-cake itself sat in a prime position at the edge of the bay, with its fine windows and turret giving an almost 360 degree view. The murmur of the sea and the cry of gulls were all around, and yet they were 20 minutes, tops, from downtown Cascade.  
Jim opened the big front door and walked him through. Inside was bare, to say the least. The walls were peeling, and the woodwork needed renewing. The floors and staircases were very poor in places and the plumbing and kitchen arrangements looked pretty primitive. Yet the rooms were spacious and full of potential, the whole place glowed with the light of the sea, and the views were astounding.  
Right at the top, in the turret, he looked down at the ground and saw Deanna watching. She waved, and he waved back, and he finally turned to Jim, who was propped against a window-ledge, arms crossed, with a hesitant look on his face.  
“Jim, what is this all about?”  
Jim turned away and started peeling some old paint off the ledge.  
“When you were in Denver, and… well, everything was going wrong – had gone wrong – I got to thinking that if you were to come back to Cascade, you couldn’t be where you were before. Not in my spare room, not without your own life and space.”  
“Jim, I…”  
“No, please let me finish. I’ve had a long time to think about this – to put the words together. I got to thinking that we both needed a new start. I had no idea whether you felt the way I did - hell, I wasn’t sure myself, not really sure, until you left. And it was then I realised, I didn’t want to be without you. Not ever again. So there needed to be something to make you think Cascade was a good option, that could help you decide to come back here. So I talked with Deanna - I told you she was in real estate, didn’t I? – and asked her about possible places where maybe we could live, to be near each other, but allow you a life of your own, if that was what you wanted…”  
Blair bit his lip, desperate to intervene, but he could see Jim was steeling himself to talk it all out.  
“We looked at a load of places, but none seemed right, until Deanna came up with this one. Her office is the sole agent, and they’ve had it on their books for some time. No one seems to want to put the money and time in to transform it into what it could be. It was the old coastguard office and lookout, you see, dating right back to the 1930s, before they built the new place over in the main harbour area. It got run-down after that – no one using it, no one to look after it. But now there are new people and businesses coming into the area. There’s even the makings of an artists’ colony not far along the bay, as well. So when I looked at it, I thought, you know, it could be perfect, whether we were - ah - _together_ , or just friends living near each other. And there’s so much space here, we could even rent part of it out. It just seemed so right, you know? It feels so peaceful, yet the commute to the PD is almost the same.”  
Blair looked around him again, seeing it now as a place for the two of them, seeing with growing excitement what the future might hold.  
“We’d have to do it up ourselves,” went on Jim, still with his face averted. “I thought maybe we could see it as a project, for the two of us - an equal project, with each of us having equal shares. When I first started talking to Deanna about it, I hardly dared hope that… that you and I might… you know, have got to the important point. But if we are - if we have got there - then maybe this is even more of a good idea. How does it seem to you?”  
Jim suddenly looked up. Blair’s heart broke at the look of naked apprehension. The self-assured, in-control Jim Ellison was nowhere to be seen.  
Blair walked over and took Jim into his arms; the other man responded only hesitantly, so Blair gave him a gentle shake.  
“Jim, it’s the most amazing place I’ve ever seen, and it’s the best idea I’ve ever heard, and the most wonderful. And I don’t want to live anywhere without you anymore. I want us to be together, properly together - a couple.”  
Jim looked up, tightening his embrace.  
“Me, too, Chief. Oh God, I do. When you see what life can dish out – that crash last night… I don’t want to waste any more time. And I want to stop avoiding happiness. So please don’t leave me again?”  
Blair shook his head and buried his face in Jim’s shoulder for a moment.  
“Never,” he said when he finally resurfaced, his eyes bright. “But look, Jim, I’ve not got a lot of savings. I don’t know how I’ll afford my share.”  
“We’ll work something out,” said Jim confidently, rocking him gently.  
“I can do the work!” offered Blair, suddenly, his mind now racing. “I mean, I don’t have a job, so I could work on this full-time. I’m pretty good with my hands, you know.”  
“I know,” murmured Jim, with a grin. “But there’s something else I should tell you.”  
He broke away from Blair and stood him squarely in front of him, his hands on Blair’s shoulders.  
“You were fucked over by the PD after the diss thing. I was just as bad; never even thought about how the offer of the badge was unworkable. No, don’t protest - you said so yourself and you were absolutely right. Well, I told Simon some home truths a few days ago, just before I left for Denver. I didn’t expect anything from it, to be honest, but part of that phone-call this this morning was that he’s started the ball rolling. He’s been meeting with Personnel, and with Chief Warren, and has been taking no prisoners, from what he told me. They are going into bat for you with Rainier, and I wouldn’t be surprised if there was PD compensation coming your way as well, though don’t quote me on that. But what I’m trying to say is, there may be a chance that neither Rainier, nor the PD, will be closed to you in the future, if you want them. You’ll have career choices again - proper career choices.”  
Blair looked at him in bewilderment.  
“All this…?”  
“Only what should have happened already. Look, that’s all for the future. If it comes off, or it doesn’t, well, what I’d like to know for certain… soon, maybe even now, if you can bear to, but think about it, if you need to, of course, but… well, is… is… well… this....” - and he swept his arm around the room to indicate the building, somehow managing to incorporate himself as well - “…Will you? Could you? What do you think? I mean, is it….?”  
“Yes, Jim,” said Blair, firmly, and with a huge smile. “Yes. Oh, man, you better believe it, yes!”  
+++++

* * *

_-fin-_


End file.
